Searching
by Child of Loki
Summary: While searching for their lost teammates, Sarah and Becker find one another… A series of semi-connected shorts. Post-Series 3. Sarah/Becker
1. Tahitian Beauty

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Primeval**_** or its characters…**

**Author's note: Because I can't seem to get past this obsession, a series of shorts (possibly some drabbles of the loosely defined variety) about Becker and Sarah. Post Series 3.

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Tahitian Beauty under a waterfall...

That's the first thing that sprung to Becker's mind. It was almost the exact image of the first naughty picture that had adorned his bedroom wall as an adolescent.

And he knew he should turn away, but he didn't.

The naked curves of Dr. Sarah Page; her dark hair falling loose about her shoulders, the sun gleaming enticingly off her olive skin..._Snap out of it!_

He had gone through the anomaly in search of the scientist. Ever since the others had disappeared, Sarah's tendency to wander off without permission had worsened. Becker understood the need to see behind every rip in time, just in case their friends were there waiting.

But they never were.

Reality could be cruel that way. And maybe that's why she had indulged in this little moment of escapism in this primitive paradise, shedding her clothes for a liberating swim.

And maybe that's why he let his eyes linger a little longer, permitting himself his own moment of escape.


	2. A Warm Hand

**Author's note: For some reason, I wrote this in a different tense than I normally use. Not sure why…

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Sarah reaches out, uncertain that her silent plea will be answered. Her fears are obviated by his warm fingers wrapping about her chilled hand. A gentle squeeze and she finds all the support of which she is in want.

Oh, why does it have to fall upon her? No matter. Someone has to do it.

They have to know if the remains belong to their friends. There is a grave to be excavated. And the only thought worse than disturbing one of their final resting places is the knowledge that the other died alone. However, the exposed decomposing skeleton does make retrieving a DNA sample a far simpler task.

Still, the image will haunt her forever. Abby and Connor, so young, spent the rest of their lives in this _inhospitable_ time and place.

Becker's warm hand is very little comfort.


	3. Let's get pissed

**Author's note: More of not my usual writing tense…

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He finds her in the lab. The door is locked, but he _is_ the head of security, after all. And while this doesn't exactly qualify as an emergency, it definitely qualifies as a crisis on some level.

Apparently not even possessing of the energy to find a corner in which to hide herself, she is curled up in the middle of the floor. The sobs that wrack her body seem violent, yet next to no sound emerges from her pathetic form.

Maybe the eerie silence of the tableau is what wrenches Becker's heart even further, but no matter the reason he feels immensely compelled to comfort her. Kneeling on the floor, he pulls her to him. She turns into his chest, twisting her hand into the sleeve of his tee, drenching his shirt in tears.

He doesn't say a word. There is nothing that will make her feel better. He knows. Because there is nothing that eases the hurt in his own heart.

Abby and Connor are dead and gone. They could still return someday; that future-the past behind that anomaly-it might only be a possibility for the pair. However, that doesn't make finding Connor's lonely skeleton, or exhuming Abby's grave any easier.

After she grows still, he offers a prescription to ease the pain.

"Let's get pissed."

Unable or unwilling to speak, she simply nods.

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**A/N: Less melancholy whatnot ahead…promise.**


	4. Waking Up

**Author's note: Just had to go there…

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Dr. Sarah Page could only remember the first two pints.

That was never a good sign. But the point had been to obliterate that awful day.

She moaned and opened her eyes to find an unfamiliar place. Perhaps not that surprising given the apparently alcohol-induced amnesia. She appraised the situation as best she could with her sluggish, hung-over brain.

Ceiling. Bed. Becker. Wall.

_Becker?!_

She sighed. She would at least have liked to remember that.

But wait. She pulled back the bedclothes to find herself fully dressed bar shoes. Another glance in Becker's direction confirmed that he was fully clothed as well, and laying atop the covers.

She sighed.

"You don't have to look so relieved," Becker murmured from where he lay.

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**A/N: Who wouldn't want to wake up beside that? :-)**


	5. Anomaly Divining Rod

**Author's note: I've got a plot idea but am too lazy to write it into a real serial story. Thus, begins the fragmentary tale (but hopefully not too random)…

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"We've got it working now."

Becker managed not to roll his eyes, but he was less than enthusiastic about the proposed 27th trial of the anomaly predicting/tracking device that Dr Page and several of the other ARC scientists had engineered, or reverse-engineered, or whatever you called it. Frankly, the contraption looked more like something born of MacGuyver's adept albeit fictional hands.

Thankfully, Lester expressed enough skepticism for a continent, saving him from having to tell Sarah what he really thought about this insane scheme of hers. Unfortunately, the acerbic bureaucrat seemed as desperate to get the others back as they were, and another test was approved.

Becker caught up Sarah as she excitedly made her way to pack up the device for a field trip.

"Should I place the fire brigade on stand-by this time?" he ribbed her about the last incident involving the anomaly divining rod.

She shot him a playfully hate-filled look.

He smiled his catching smile and her mood immediately lightened.

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**A/N: Obviously no one else is enjoying this...but I am, so I shall continue. **


	6. Haunted

**Author's note: A more serious bit…?

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She barely stifled a scream as she woke with a start. Finding the source of her disturbing nightmare still residing upon the desk before her, she closed the journal with a quick, disgusted flick of her wrist.

_She had been in _the_ explosion, had felt the heat of the fire, the burning sting of smoke filling her eyes and lungs. And there _he_ was standing before her, looking precisely as she remembered-only with a look of bemused frustration, edged with hatred? Worse, he looked uninterested, as if he no longer cared. And she did not like that fact one little bit. It made things easier, a lot easier._

_Aiming the gun at his heart, she felt a self-satisfied smirk creep across her lips. His incredulous crystalline eyes met hers as she pulled the trigger..._and awoke.

It was official.

Dr. Sarah Page had spent far too much time in the head of that twisted psychopath, Helen Cutter. Right from the outset, she had felt part of herself vehemently resistant to adopting the mad woman's logic in the least. However, she had pushed past the aversion, believing the small sacrifice of temporary moral discomfort-and the bile that sometimes bit at her throat as she pondered Helen's ravings-was worth retrieving the closest thing she had to real friends.

And she still didn't regret it, not even with the nightmares, not even with the unsettling feeling that the sociopath was perpetually looking over her shoulder.

Swiveling her chair around in a sharp movement, she attempted to reassure herself there was in fact no one hovering about, especially murderous nutters.

Except, there was someone hovering about the doorway.

"Becker?" she questioned startled. She clambered for an excuse for her odd behaviour, jumping up and grabbing her bag. "I was just leaving."

A hand at her wrist stopped her as she tried to squeeze past him. She glanced at him to find a quizzical, concerned look before averting her eyes for fear he could read her problems in them.

"You okay?" he probed.

"Yes, fine." She shook his hand off her wrist and hurried away before she had to answer uncomfortable questions as to the source of her edginess, or the status of her sanity. As she walked away, she found the guilt of being dishonest with the man a little more difficult to shake off.

_H__e wouldn't understand. No one would.

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**A/N: And more humor to come…**


	7. Are We There Yet?

**Author's note: Some random silliness I couldn't resist…

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"How many more anomalies must we go through?"

"Stop fussing," Sarah scolded the grown man as if he were one of her young nephews. She consulted the crazy device the ARC's mad scientists and she had rigged up. It looked as if it were straight out of a cheesy sci-fi 'B' movie. It clicked and beeped at her as if it had a personality. _And her life had been relatively normal at one time..._

"I told you before, every time I add new data, it recalibrates our route."

"To be shorter?"

"Yes, Becker, to be shorter."

"Is it set to shorter distance or travel time?"

"It's not a bloody SATNAV!"

"So..."

Sarah released an immense sigh.

"It takes both distance and time between anomaly openings into account."

"Good. That's all I wanted to know." And with that, he pushed past her to go through the latest in a long line of temporal rips on their journey to find their missing teammates.

Fuming, Sarah reluctantly stormed through after him.

God, that man could infuriate her at times. If he weren't so sweet at other times, and so _damn_ good looking all of the time, she wasn't so sure she'd put up with his little control freak fits.


	8. A Lonely Night

If there was a protocol that dealt with this, Becker was pretty certain it was along the lines of 'don't.' However, he was also certain that they had long ago passed from mere acquaintance to something more. His concern for the woman would not permit him to simply ignore the sounds of disturbed slumber emerging from her tent.

So, with only the slightest hesitation he poked his head and a torch in to check on Dr. Page. The woman was nothing more than a lump of dark material, she was bundled in so tightly that not an inch of her showed. The dark mass wriggled about not unlike the larvae of some of the nastier creatures they had encountered-its occupant unable to find a position of rest. The noise, however, was mostly human despite the lack of distinctly audible language.

It was something Becker had witnessed before in others. Not quite night terrors, but she was most apparently well on her way. Her inability to sleep was not limited to this night. He had seen the deepening circles darkening the skin around her eyes, rendering her a haunted visage. At the rate she was deteriorating, in this harsh environment, she would undoubtedly soon fall ill. And they definitely did not need to lose their prehistoric tour guide.

Entering her obviously ineffectual attempt at a sanctuary, he hastily closed the flap behind him, keeping out the arctic temperatures from the merely frigid ones within. Grabbing what he estimated to be her shoulder, he settled her upon what he hoped was her back. He didn't dare shine his torch directly upon her for fear of startling her, but even the meager illumination it cast in their direction allowed him to see her face.

_Definitely not a pleasant dream._

She seemed resistant to his firm hand, moaning slightly at the restraint of it. Guilt swayed him momentarily, once more causing him to hesitate-something he needed to get a handle upon, for quick decisions were part of survival in places such as these. Perhaps, he should let her sleep, for she seemed to get so little rest. Then again, she would probably thank him, given the pained expressions contorting the features of her face.

He shook her gently.

With a sharp inhalation of breath, her eyes shot open. She blinked several times before questioning his presence in a bemused whisper.

"You were having a nightmare."

"How...?" The inquiry was left hanging, but its verbalization was unnecessary.

"It sounded rather unpleasant, even from out there."

An embarrassed silence fell between them. No doubt she felt exposed. And rightly so-for he had intruded on something blatantly personal. However...

"How long has this been going on?" he asked, a sterner tilt to his tone. She pursed her lips, whether in thought or defiance, he wasn't certain. How could he coax her into being honest with him? Although all of his men, including himself, had received training in the operation of the Anomaly Predicting Device, they couldn't afford losing her to exhaustion or illness.

"I need to know if this is going to be a problem, Sarah."

The only audible response was the chattering of her teeth. He placed both of his hands at what he believed to be her arms just for certainty, but she was visibly shaking. Another quick survey of her face informed him that she was weary to the point of tears, but too tired to cry. He gave her what he hoped was a gentle although imploring look. It appeared to do the trick, for her resolve burst like a dam. And yet tears still did not flow. It was not that long ago he had held her while she cried but this time she still had resisted him as far as she could withstand the strain. Women! Would he never understand?

A bizarre, uncharacteristically near-incoherent string of words flowed forth from her, the basic gist of which was that she vacillated between either lying awake shivering uncontrollably or tormented by nightmares every night since they had entered the Ice Age.

And while she remained silent upon the subject of the nightmares, which he could do nothing to resolve, Becker could offer a solution to her other problem.

"I've got an idea," he announced before abandoning her to the cold, dark once more.

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**A/N: TBC…**


	9. Hot Water Bottle

Maybe the shuddering of her shivering body had jarred her brain, but Sarah felt for certain she had missed something. Somehow, Becker had not only caught her in one of her rare, most vulnerable moments, but he had coaxed her into confessing her troubles with nothing more than a few softly spoken words and a concerned look. If he had smiled at her, she would've agreed to anything. God forbid he ever realized that.

OH! It was so, so cold. Was she dead? Couldn't be...death would be a sweet, sweet release from this horrible discomfort. She wasn't a masochist, but at least with agonizing pain, one was likely to pass out sooner rather than later. The cold just ate away at your nerves and soul. The calming, numb relief of hypothermia would've been a blessing compared to this perpetual chill.

It seemed like forever between when she heard the footsteps crunching on the snow and when the handsome soldier reappeared, torch in hand, and an all-too-coy smile upon his lips. The tent was quickly sealed behind him before he began to slip off his boots and parka.

"What are you doing?" Sarah asked warily, because it sort of looked like he was-

"Make room," he ordered. She grabbed the slide as he leaned down to claim it, denying him access while keeping herself safely inside. She just didn't have the willpower to tolerate such plutonic intimacy that appeared imminent.

"C'mon, Sarah," he pleaded, thankfully without all his charm that would surely have done her in. "I know there's room. All that space is one of the reasons why you're not warming up as you should be. I can fill it."

"Lester would definitely refer to this as 'inappropriate behaviour for the work environment'," she deflected her own hesitancy at being so familiar with the man.

"Don't think of me as a coworker," he argued. "Think of me as giant hot water bottle...one that is rapidly cooling, might I add."

Considering how much heat a man of his size and metabolism likely emitted was rather tempting, but "Shouldn't you be on watch or patrol or something?"

"Just switched off," he shot down her second deflection.

And then he smiled that accursed little boy grin that melted her insides. Its power was not reduced by the sub-par lighting.

She let him in, but for the sake of her own sanity couldn't allow him to get away with such manipulation so easily. Taking him by surprise, he was unable to suppress a yelp as she snuck her icy fingers under his shirt and pressed them to the hot skin along his spine. Satisfied, she snuggled into his comforting warmth, no longer caring about the impropriety of the situation.


	10. Observations

**Author's note: Short and pointless...just like most of my stories ;-) Otherwise, they never are completed.

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"Neanderthals must be matriarchal," Sarah observed over the creature's almost submissive behavior towards her. "He seems to think I'm the one in charge."

"Yeah, he wouldn't be too far off, either." One of the soldiers muttered from behind them. Sarah couldn't tell which one, but she had a few ideas. Of course, not so many ideas as some of Becker's men possessed about the subject of their commanding officer's being 'whipped' by the female scientist.

When he had first spent the night in her tent, Becker had assured her that they couldn't have managed any hanky panky had they wanted to make the attempt. And after spending several nights pinned against him by the snugness of their cocoon and with multiple layers of clothing between them, she was liable to agree with his initial assertion. She wasn't admitting to how much time she had spent considering any possibilities for something naughty occurring.

Of course, it made no difference to his men that they literally couldn't manage anything beyond platonic cuddling. The notion that their commanding officer was bunking down with the only woman in their party was enough to amuse them for hours upon hours. She didn't mind the teasing, but not knowing how he felt about the whole situation she never dared to broach the subject with Becker. Frankly, it was very much preferable to the icy nights she had spent prior.

Again, she didn't attempt to read his reaction, instead ignoring the comment and focusing on the strange creature standing before her.

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**A/N: Apologies if the American slang his profuse/confusing/OOC... I am North American, after all, and tend to speak/write that way.  
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	11. Fair Trade?

**Author's note: Becker and Sarah's adventures (I use the term loosely considering my writing style) through time continue…

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The creature..._man_? grunted, a cloud misting the air as its hot breath froze on the bitter chill, joining with the rapid puffs from the soldier and scientist.

"Let her go," he barked, knowing that the Neanderthal couldn't comprehend a word he said, but hoping the authoritative tone would be enough to illustrate his displeasure. Leave it to the archaeologist to be carried off by an extinct branch of the extended human family.

The creature held her protectively close in front of him, blocking Becker from any safe shot. However, the soldier did not lower his weapon, even upon Sarah's insistent request and reminder that history was easily malleable.

He had ordered his men to stay behind, protect camp and keep an eye out for the imminent anomaly. Thus there was no one to sneak up behind the creature or serve as a failsafe if the situation degraded. On the other hand, if the Neanderthal didn't feel as if he were surrounded or cornered, there my be a more passive resolution to the predicament.

Becker's eyes met the surprisingly human ones of Dr. Page's kidnapper. They revealed a frightened individual rather than an angry or aggressive one. But that wasn't enough to allay the soldier's wariness.

And then a club was jabbed in his direction, making his trigger finger twitch but not beyond his self-control. It was somehow a passive gesture, as if the creature were offering the item to him...but why?

He couldn't suppress the smirk upon his lips as his eyebrows raised over the amusing notion that had struck him. Well, if that were the case, and the Neanderthal didn't want a fight... He lowered his weapon somewhat, but kept it at the ready and in view of the creature's pensive eyes. The Neanderthal knew its frightening power, for Becker had fired a couple warning shots to halt its flee with Sarah thrown over its shoulder.

Stepping forward, he grabbed Sarah forcefully by the arm and tugged her to his side, knowing actions spoke louder than words that would never be understood by their extremely distant cousin. Yet, not to underestimate the effect of the verbal element, he added in a distinct, firm tone, "She's mine."

Cautiously he turned his back, listening intently for any movement on the creature's part before dragging Sarah along back towards the camp. After only about ten metres, the archaeologist wrenched her arm from his grasp, spinning to face the startled soldier and jabbing him in the chest with a gloved finger.

"Who in the hell do you think you are?!" she shouted. It echoed across the vast, snow-covered landscape, causing both to hesitate from the ferocity of her outburst. He gave her a what-did-_I_-do look. She continued to glare up at him.

"I'm sick of you pushing me about," she hissed. "I'm not one of your soldiers that you can order me around."

Becker tried to protest that he didn't treat her like one of his men, that he didn't think of her in anywhere near the same context, but she cut him off with a sharp look that said interrupting her would be tantamount to verbal suicide.

"I'm not just some asset for this mission."

Was that really what she believed he thought her?

"And I'm not a child that needs looking after, either."

This was the thanks he got after saving her life more times than he could recount?!

"Maybe you should stop wandering off like one, then!" he snapped at her, losing his composure momentarily. "You're the one supposed to be guiding us through the anomalies, yet whenever it's time to go, you're nowhere to be found and I have to play hide-and-seek with Dr. Page whilst hoping that we don't end up stuck forever wandering through time!"

She scowled at him, apparently beyond words with which to attack him. And oddly enough, he found himself distracted by her pursed lips that were somehow appealing despite their painfully chapped appearance. They matched her wind burnt cheeks, red from the heat of their argument or the chill of the air he couldn't say for certain. However, he _was _certain that she was no less an attractive woman in this state, bundled against the cold, fatigued, angry... _passionate_.

She swiftly turned on her heel and marched off towards the camp.

God, the woman could infuriate him. But the trait only seemed to fix her more in his thoughts.

"I should've took the damn club," He muttered, easily catching up the smaller woman.

"What?!" she barked at him, still heated over their exchange.

"Nice club, was that. Real mammoth bone, do you think?" he commented matter-of-factly, knowing full well he'd never trade Dr. Page for anything, no matter how tempting.

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**A/N: Sarah seems a little moody. My bad. I feel like her outburst would appear better justified in a story that was a little more in-depth, but it was written on the basis that quite a bit of (mundane?) stuff has happened that I just didn't include? I don't know. Enjoy?**


	12. Better A Velociraptor

**Author's note: I've been trying to write them every other one, perspective-wise. But it just worked out this way better. So two Becker in a row…

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"Couldn't Helen Cutter's device open the anomalies?" Wilkins, the fair-haired youngest member of the team asked as they packed up camp to wait for the supposed opening of the rip in time. It wasn't accusatory or even a complaint, but Becker stopped checking the kit he had just packed up, sensing danger.

Sarah was still fuming after their confrontation, and she looked about poised to bite the unfortunate young man's head off.

"They couldn't fully reconstruct the device," Becker stepped in, offering explanation and saving one of his soldiers from a most unpleasant demise. While all of the men he had chosen for this mission were selected upon the basis of their ability to survive a jaunt through primeval landscapes, he'd never wish the archaeologist's fury upon them. _Better eaten alive by a velociraptor._ Especially, since he had been the one to have supposedly instigated it.

Funny, he used to think her a rather genial, laid-back sort. Perhaps it was the 24-hour-a-day aspect that was driving them both mad. Perhaps it was unresolved tens-_something else_.

He tried placating the woman's anger. "What they did achieve is pretty impressive considering how little they had to work with..."

She threw the tent she had just finished breaking down at him, hitting Becker squarely in the chest, before she stalked off without a word to secure some more equipment.

"Was it something I said?" Wilkins asked. Lord, that boy was oblivious.

"No," Becker reassured him, adding quietly to himself. "It was all me."

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**A/N: More coming very soon…**


	13. Anomaly Lag

**Author's note: Been neglecting the geology…so there's a bit in here, just because. **

**Shizuku Tsukishima749 -I could never make Abby and Connor gone forever! They would obviously be figuring things out on their end. I've just chosen to follow Sarah and Becker, since plenty of people tackle Abby and Connor (and rather well).

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"When are we?" Becker asked after the entire team had emerged from the anomaly, gear in tow.

"Late Carboniferous," Sarah announced after taking stock of their surroundings and studying the device in her hands. She fiddled with it a bit, trying to recalibrate their route with the data. It took longer than it should have, given they had emerged precisely where it had predicted. She blamed her distracted state on the heat, a welcome although severely shocking change from the frigid Pleistocene.

She tried to convince herself that what was distracting was not the man standing a few feet in front of her, stripping off several layers of arctic gear, giving her a fleeting glimpse of skin she had touched on a few occasions with her icy fingers. Fingers so icy and numb as to give her no real pleasure in the contact beyond his protestations to her frigid touch.

Just last night, he had snuck his hands under her clothes, resting them on the bare skin of her waist and the small of her back.

Sarah unzipped her parka, shook it off and shoved it into her pack. Several layers later, she finally felt the flush of heat dissipate.

"What's the location and ETA of the next anomaly?" Becker asked, coming to stand so close that she could smell the strong scent that was uniquely him even over the profuse odour of swamp. She swallowed back a bizarre mixture of urges. Simultaneously she felt the desire to shove her tongue in his mouth and to slap him smartly across the face. She was angry at him, his inaccessible demeanor, and yet remained severely attracted to the man.

"3 days, 2 hours, 7 minutes and about 12 kilometers southeast," she said, shaking off the frustration Becker seemed to elicit within her. "Remember Earth's magnetic poles were-_are_-reversed during this period."

"So our compasses are going to be telling us the opposite," he concluded.

"Precisely," Sarah confirmed, hoping he'd leave her alone to her bizarre mood and go do his soldiering thing.

"What can we expect?"

She gave him a puzzled look, not understanding to precisely what he was referring.

"Creature-wise," he clarified, giving her concerned look. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, fine," she affirmed. "Just the drastic change in climate is throwing me off a bit, I think."

Apparently, the excuse was not a good one. He continued to study her until she felt like she was a suspect in one of his interrogations.

"Erm...creatures. Tetrapods varying from salamander to large crocodile in size," she deflected. "And lots of..." She grimaced. "_Insects_. Large ones."

He smiled, seeming to take that her odd behaviour was the result of her anxiety over bugs, and turned to address the rest of their team. The sunlight that managed to break through the towering, near-alien flora backlit the captain with an orange glow. It was that of a setting sun. It had been early morning when they left the Ice Age.

"We've got plenty of time to get to the next anomaly," he informed. "Let's make camp here to give us a few hours to cope with the Anomaly-lag."

Yeah, that's what she was feeling...._Anomaly-lag_.


	14. Comfort Level

**Author's note: Because some of you were kind enough to let me know that you're reading this, have another chapter. (But be warned. I will have caught myself up again soon with writing this). Two Sarah's perspectives in a row, just to even it out. (Okay, that's a lie-it's just the way it went).  


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"Any ghastly creatures lurking in the shadows?"

The man seemed surprised to see her, but there was no way the highly-trained soldier had not heard her approach. She leaned against the rock outcropping beside him, mirroring his casual stance. And yet, despite the nonchalant pose, he still appeared as intensely alert as always, gun cradled in his arms, eyes scanning the dark recesses the fire failed to illuminate.

She sighed.

"Don't you ever relax?" Sarah inquired, generally interested in what he had to say for himself.

"While in the middle of a Carboniferous swamp inhabited by any number of lethal creatures, several million years from home?" Becker replied sarcastically. "No."

"I bet you don't even let down your guard when you're safe at home," she accused, crossing her arms and examining the poorly lit features of his face.

He didn't look at her, only said, "'Safe' is an illusion. It's all relative."

"Well," Sarah tried to change tact. "That doesn't mean you have to be so tense all the time."

He glanced at her, a fleeting look of bemusement wrinkling his brow over her purpose for having this conversation. And then he was back to surveying the vast darkness of the forest about them.

"I mean, it can't be healthy," she pursued her argument, her hands becoming more animated to somehow aide in illustrating her point. "Even while you're asleep, you're all stiff and-"

She stopped herself but too late to spare the blush and embarrassment that forced her to look away. Little did it matter, for she knew all too well the precise look Becker was giving her; the one with the lifted eyebrow, and amused half-smirk. And despite the fact that their previous, bizarre sort of intimacy was not a topic he ever entertained, let alone acknowledged, she knew, _knew_ that he was finding her embarrassment much more entertaining than any he felt himself.

After a few moments silence, she shifted uneasily, resuming her leaning stance with her back to the cold rock.

The silence stretched on.

Unconsciously, she gravitated towards him, her arm brushing against his. When he failed to stir, to reject the small intimacy, she leaned her head upon his shoulder. Automatically, she took in a deep draught of his scent, letting it flood her senses, finding an instinctive comfort in it.

"You've washed," she commented upon the subtlety of his odour, finding it odd that she would miss the overpowering poignancy of perspiration accumulated over several weeks time.

"Did I really smell that bad?" he asked, playfully imitating offense.

"I'm sure I did just as much," she replied, laughing lightly at the memory of discarding those horrid clothes and washing away the Ice Age from her skin with the warm embrace of the clearest pool she could find in the swamp-like jungle. Lord, how she had wanted to burn the offensive items, not give them a cursory rinse and re-adorn them.

But to be completely honest,

"I've missed the scent of you," She confessed quietly, uncertain of how such a sentiment would be received, but feeling compelled to share nonetheless. She had been so harsh on him as of late, her misery transferring to outward annoyance with the only person amongst them whom she was close enough to feel comfortable abusing. She had to let him know that it wasn't him, that she appreciated his friendship- she supposed that was the only word that fit, even though it didn't really.

He didn't respond. But neither did he make an excuse, push her away. He let her stand close to him, leaning against him, cuddling into his shoulder. Only vaguely did she consider how strange it was, how had it been just a few weeks ago, she could never fathom such an intimacy, how after all that had happened, she no longer cared about propriety. Things would no doubt be awkward when they got home. But for now, she just wanted to jump his bones, consequences be damned.

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**A/N: I am trying my damnedest not to completely degrade into all-out fluff or smut, but it is becoming increasingly difficult. :-) Some might argue that I have already failed in that futile endeavour.  
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	15. Distraction

**Author's note: It only seemed fair that Becker was having some issues as well, so here we go…**

**Warning: Contains brief coarse language and references to mature subject matter.

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This was a problem.

Becker tossed the remains of his coffee into the fire, watching as Wilkins and Scott retired for the night. The others had already gone down with the sun, their turn for watch being directly after his own. The captain always took first duty, not because it was obligatory or even common among military types. He had started doing so in order to bed down with Sarah, lend her his body heat so that she could get a solid night's rest without interruption. Even after she had seemed much revived, he had continued the pattern.

However, now they had stopped, the frigid temperatures no longer a valid excuse. There had been no conversation about it. They had never even acknowledged the strange ritual. And it was still not a conversation he wished to have. But that didn't mean he wasn't beginning to miss the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her lulling him to sleep. When she had joined him last night, leaned against him, spoke to him so sincerely, earnestly of her feelings...

It had been all he could do not to take her right there and then.

She was a distraction.

They needed her.

There was no way to avoid her.

He needed to bolster his self control. That was all. He needed to survey their surroundings, not to let his eyes wander to the curves of her body that were now visible after being obscured by winter gear for so long. He needed to listen to the information she shared, not to stare at her mouth when she spoke, hearing not a word she said. He needed to focus on their mission, not to think of her smile, her laugh, how sultry her voice was at night even when she whispered entirely innocuous comments to him while she was in his arms. He needed to anticipate any and all threats as they made their way across prehistoric landscapes, not to fantasize about picking her up and carrying her off not unlike the Neanderthal had done, about throwing her to the soft ground in between the voluminous seed ferns and fucking her so deep and hard as to render her incapable of recalling her own name.

_Damn_.

There was no way she was going to stop being a distraction for him. But there was something he could do about the tension between them that was building to dangerous levels. He looked to the light still glowing strong in Dr. Page's tent, her silhouette a darker shape against the canvas. He checked his watch.

Just a few more minutes until... _until what?! _Even if she felt the ever-increasing pressure between them, that didn't mean that she would... But _lord_, the way she had looked at him.

* * *

**A/N: Possibly some smut to come…we'll see whether I manage to censor myself enough for it to be postable.**


	16. Satiation

**Author's Note: Um…yeah…**

**Warning: SMUT! Nothing too explicit.

* * *

**

Sarah nearly jumped out of her skin, the sound of his voice so startled her as it cut through the silent refuge of her tent.

"Oh! Becker, you frightened me," she exclaimed, her heart settling back down out of her throat.

"Sorry," he apologized without looking directly at her, a hand running over his dark hair. His manner appeared somewhat nervous, odd for him. "I...er..."

He stopped mid-sentence when he finally looked at her. It was very uncharacteristic for the man to be so ineloquent, despite his terse tendencies. And, oh lord, he was staring...at her.

A glance down informed her why he had been stunned silent. She had stripped down to her camisole and panties for the night. Her skin was still slick from the humidity of the day and the light cotton clung about her otherwise bare breasts. Hastily, she pulled her legs up, hugging her knees before her, blocking his view of her indecent state.

It seemed to do the trick, breaking his trance. He visibly shook whatever thoughts he had been pondering from his head before he continued.

"I...I have a problem."

Sarah gave him a puzzled look. She had never known the former SAS man to admit any weakness. At first, she thought it a result of pride, but now that she knew him better, knew that he would never compromise a mission or lives for his ego, she had begun to think he simply lacked any weaknesses-at least, in the execution of his job.

"What is it?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

He sighed, then pinned her with a focused look.

"It's you," he revealed.

"What?" she scoffed incredulously, a shiver running down her spine as the skin of her face and neck became hot. She just had to be mistaken in what she thought she witnessed in his eyes.

_Or not_.

Before she could recover the sense to utter another word, he was on her, his body leaning over hers, easing her onto her back, one hand about her waist, the other hand upon her neck, his face so teasingly close she could almost feel his lips, taste him.

"You're driving me mad," he accused in a voice so husky as to make her gasp from the wave of lust that it sent coursing through her.

Then he kissed her, proving that she could be wound even tighter than she already felt. It was an urgent embrace born of pressing need and days of compounding frustration; a little rough, and a lot sloppy.

"_I'm_ the one driving _you _mad?" Sarah asked whilst panting heavily when he let her breathe once more. "What do you think you're doing to me?"

"Apologies," he offered between placing delicate kisses on her bare neck and collarbone. His hands became more bold, caressing and exploring her skin. And she ground her body against his, moaning softly as she discovered his need for release was as pressing as her own.

She had helped him out of his shirt and was desperately making for his belt before she hesitated.

"We can't," she said, the frustration warbling her voice. "We don't have any..."

He fumbled about in a pocket of his fatigues for a few seconds.

"Why in the world would you think to pack a condom for trip through prehistory?" she asked, smiling despite herself.

"Always be prepared," he quoted to her, smirking before he invaded her mouth with his tongue once more.

"Such the boy scout," she commented against his lips.

"Den Mother was an avid proponent of safety," he supplied. And as often was the case, she was not quite sure of what to make of his dry humour. Rather than try to figure it out, she returned her focus to more carnal pursuits.

When it was time to discard her panties, it appeared to be his turn for hesitation. And she growled out of unfulfilled anticipation.

"Perhaps we shouldn't do this." He withdrew ever so slightly from her arms. "The consequences..."

"I thought you had that covered," she pointed out, wrapping her legs about him and tugging at his hips.

"That's not the consequence I was thinking of..." He continued. Did he think she'd regret it in the morning? Even if for some unforeseen reason, she did, or he did, it was worth the price for the relief of the insane tension she could no longer bear.

"I'd be thinking about more immediate consequences," Sarah warned breathlessly," Such as if you're not inside of me in the next ten seconds, I _will_ scream."

"Oh, you'll scream." It wasn't teasing. Nor was it a question. It was a promise, whispered in a voice made low and gravelly by unsated lust. And it sent a shiver down her spine. Her body's pleas for satiation intensified to an unbearable degree.

And then they were answered.


	17. Postcoital Contemplations

**Author's Note: I was going to address the issue of awkwardness over Sarah's imminent coital outcries in the last chapter, but that would require more explicit writing that is beyond my capabilities to execute well. It's been worked into Becker's perspective in a roundabout manner. **

**Warning: Not explicit or straightforward, but SMUT nonetheless.

* * *

**

Becker sighed contentedly, and ran the back of his fingers gently over the bare skin of Sarah's neck and shoulder. Her skin was soft, made more-so by the perspiration still lending her body a moist sheen. And the tan pigment of her flesh, an appetizing creamy mocha, just begged to be consumed. Rather than yielding to the urge to sink his teeth into her naked shoulder, he opted to follow his fingers' path with a series of delicate kisses.

Not being able to entirely withstand carnal urges (that remained insistent despite the fact that they had just seen to placating them quite well), he nipped a bit at her neck. And she tasted amazing.

So utterly unconscious, she failed to stir in the least. He smiled to himself, hugging the naked, sleeping woman tighter to him, reveling in the feel of her warm skin and delicious curves pressed against his body.

He had truly exhausted her. However, it was her own fault for being so stubborn. And it would be a lie to say he didn't enjoy pushing her past her coping point, when she could no longer confine the cries of pleasure to the back of her throat. No doubt part of her had remembered the rest of the soldiers not more than ten yards beyond the canvas wall, as she stifled screams by biting her knuckles or his shoulder. Eventually, she had forgotten or no longer retained the capacity to care.

Frankly, he didn't give a damn if his men had heard them. No matter what he said to the soldiers, they would never believe that the captain and the archaeologist hadn't been involved in such activity from the very beginning, even though it had been the truth up to a few hours ago. And from what he had witnessed thus far, Sarah could more than handle them taking the piss out of her. In fact, she was rather apt at returning the favour.

No doubt they would harass her something fierce about the screaming, though.

He felt momentarily guilty until he recalled the intensity of her pleasure. Besides, he had said she would scream. And he was a man of his word.

Perhaps that was why he had held out for so long. Both of their stamina had surprised him, given that they were strung so tightly it wouldn't have been unexpected if they burst in the first few minutes. There were definite benefits to maintaining a high level of physical self-discipline, besides the ability to survive any number of combat situations. And honestly, it had not been just for her pleasure that he had delayed his release to the last possible moment.

The endorphin rush had been devastatingly overwhelming. And most apparently the same for her, even though she had passed out before the afterglow faded from her skin or the buzzing from his brain.

The intention had been for this to relieve the tension, resolve the problem, put an end to the horrible distraction that the contemplation of her elicited. Instead, he found himself wanting more-more touching, more tasting, more moments of ecstasy, and most of all, more peaceful moments of pure contentment such as this.

He buried his face in her hair, drank in her scent, laid his head back, and closing his eyes, drifted off to blissful sleep.

* * *

**A/N: The smut may be over (for now), but we're not done with these two yet… ;-)**


	18. I'll Give You A Ring Sometime

**Author's Note: Thought this all was working up to the smut, and would presently conclude with fluff? Guess again… ;-)**

**

* * *

**Sarah shivered, waking to the realization that her bed was empty save her own naked form. Her clothes were still strewn about the tent. His were absent.

_Stupid, Sarah! Stupid!_

She sat up, trying to clutch the fabric over her front and failing, and then not caring for she was alone.

Why should he have been there when she awoke, anyway?

Why should she care?

How did that saying go? _Men fall in love before sex, and fall out of love after they get it. Conversely, women fall in love after._

But it wasn't that. It hadn't been. _That _word had never factored into the equation. Yes, he was attractive. Yes, she felt attached to him. Yes, it had been the most amazing sex she had in a while-the sort that meant she was having an extremely difficult time locating her underwear. Okay, it had been the best she had had in recent memory. Perhaps, but she was not admitting it, the best ever.

Prior to the previous night, the term 'screamer' could never, _never_ have applied to her.

_Ugh! _She would have to go out there and face half a dozen men who knew what noises she made mid-orgasm, and one that knew _everything_ about her body, her pleasure, and perhaps regretted attaining such knowledge.

Pulling on her camisole and pants, she perused her memories for any indication of how the soldier felt about the situation. Beyond the exuberant, lustful ministrations to her person, she had no memory to that effect. Her last semi-serious boyfriend had always harassed her for passing out after relations faster than a typical man was purported to do. She had certainly proved that argument valid last night.

The tent flap jerked open, causing her to jump. Damn that man. His ability to startle her.

"Anomaly, Dr. Page."

Captain Becker disappeared, leaving her to sit there with her mouth ajar, hand frozen reaching for her boot, scoffing in a severe manner. When She finally took in a choking breath, she followed it with a soft vocalization of her pain.

"Ow!"

Now that hurt.

_Dr. Page? _She couldn't remember the last he'd been so formal with her. He might as well have said 'Thanks for the shag, babe. I'll give you a ring sometime."

She aggressively shoved her feet into well-worn boots, violently securing the laces in a manner that almost guaranteed her feet would turn purple, seething over own daft sensitivity.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, don't hate on Becker (or rather me for my version of him). This is just her perspective-we'll find out what's going on… I just couldn't succumb to immediate happiness/fluff. **

**A/N 2: Oh, yeah. I used quote from 'Dead Like Me'... Not my saying (I'm not that insightful/brilliant).  
**


	19. Wrong Anomaly, Wrong Decision?

**Author's Note: I've seemed to fallen into a pattern/style with this, even though it was meant to be more random. Here's a bit of a change-up (although arguably not much). An outsider perspective…

* * *

**

"I'm telling you, that's the wrong anomaly!"

"How is it the wrong anomaly?! You predicted an anomaly. At _this_ precise place and time. And dumb soldier I may be, but I'm fairly certain that's not a prehistoric localized version of the Northern Lights."

Davey Wilkins wanted to look away, but couldn't. It was like watching an imminent train wreck. And by the sounds of the whistles, neither parties were applying the brake.

It would be amusing-_had_ been amusing for the first few weeks, betting on whether they'd jump one another mid-argument. But this... This was unsettlingly similar to witnessing your parents fight, and in a manner that could only end with one of them walking out the door. Only, there was nowhere for them to go, and the absence of either rather worried Wilkins's confidence in their ever getting home, let alone finding the missing ARC team members…

Not to mention that he had never been as comfortable as his comrades were about prying into the personal business of their superior officer and the attractive scientist. He supposed they did need some entertainment to pass the time between outrunning nasty creatures, trekking across prehistoric landscapes and traveling through anomalies. Because it, well, it was frankly boring as hell. They had retained the foresight to bring a pack of cards in their little allotted precious space. Most spare room had been filled by rations (no killing and eating the locals...Butterfly Effect or some such philosophical shit-like butterflies were at all an appetizing prospect).

Rations were running low. They had lost the Ace of Spades and the Suicide King had an obvious speck of dirt on the back in the upper right corner. And apparently, tempers were flaring.

Wilkins flinched sympathetically, seeing the muscles in Dr. Page's right arm twitch. The loud 'thwack' he had expected to hear as she landed a blow across the Captain's face, however, did not follow. That woman had considerable self-control. Contrary to the norm, their voices had grown quieter as their argument took on greater fervor, and he had no clue what his CO had said to merit such a reaction, but there was no doubting the urge the woman had squelched.

"Do you know how much of Earth's history is contained within the Precambrian?!"

Dr. Page was getting loud again. Funny, he had always thought her a quiet sort, from the little he had seen of her prior to this mission. Now she seemed to belong to the mercurial, passionate set. Or perhaps it was just what the captain brought out in her.

"What are you going to do, Becker? Hold your breath for several billion years?"

The captain grabbed Dr. Page's arm, pulling her off-balance and forcing her to stumble a step closer. It was an unexpected twist to the confrontation. Even though it had been in the man's voice, Wilkins had never thought that the captain would allow the dispute to turn physical. The man had too much control to succumb to such a passionate whim.

Straining his ears, he could pick up on the urgent whisper of his commanding officer. Its tone was significantly less harsh, yet still retained a frustrated edge.

"What is this really about?"

She averted her gaze from his face, shifting uncomfortably in his grasp. Instead of pleading or snapping at her, he silently waited. One had to admire a man like that. Davey was certain a relationship like that would've driven him mad long ago.

"It's about you making a bad decision," she hissed, still staring over the man's shoulder at the glittering rip in time.

"Are you sure it's not about a decision _you're_ regretting?"

The pair locked eyes and something passed between them that Wilkins could not eavesdrop upon. To be that intimate with someone, to understand unspoken thoughts...he could not fathom such a bond. Then again, the pair obviously was having issues communicating some of their feelings and opinions-namely the most important ones.

Dr. Page seemed to relax, and her arm was promptly released. When Captain Becker turned to address them, his composure had entirely returned. Now, that was a professional soldier, shaking off the effects of a woman who could so efficiently flare his temper and send an otherwise stoic man reeling.

"We've got a bit of a wait. We'll be catching the next anomaly."

* * *

**A/N: Tut tut tut…will they ever learn how to live with one another? **

**A/N2: Be forewarned…there is very likely a rather random story arc going to begin in a couple or so chapters.**


	20. Bitten

**Author's note: Last random bit before a mini-story-arc starts in the next chapter. A slightly different style (although I do fall back into my standard a little bit in the middle) just for fun.**

**Warning: Language…and er…. Angst?

* * *

**

Blood.

A bloody nose, a split lip. Becker had been in enough fights to know the taste of blood rather intimately.

And yet somehow he had expected something different.

It did not taste sweet, like her mouth.

It did not taste salty, like the sweat that sensuously coated her skin while they...

It tasted of metal, like he were sucking on an iron nail. Something soulless, lifeless.

Bad thought. Keep searching.

There. A hint of bitterness that bit at his tongue.

And his mouth began to tingle.

He released the poisoned blood from his mouth in a crimson spray before returning for more.

It was hot, and unpleasant, but he sealed his lips around the two neat punctures in the clammy skin of her forearm and took another draught from her veins.

It was marginally less bitter than the first. He showered the local flora with it before trying one final time to clear the primary concentration of venom from her system.

"Have you found something viable, yet?" he barked at Davies, the closest thing to panic he had ever felt overwhelming his composure.

He couldn't bear to lose her. Not when...

"The best we can do is a general cocktail of antivenom," Davies replied, mixing the contents of what looked liked powdered milk with some liquid, and filling a syringe. He inserted the needle into an artery in her neck. "And hope the bugger that bit her is an ancestor to one of the species the ASV was designed to treat. The rest is up to her."

God, she had better survive this. And not just because he couldn't bear to think of the hostility between them never finding resolution. That, admittedly was his own fault. He had tried to back off, spare her the embarrassment over her weak carnal moment. He now saw that it had only made him seem distant, cruel, when she wasn't actually regretting their tryst.

His coldness had been for her own good, though. She deserved better than to get tied up with a grunt like him, a soldier that couldn't even do the simplest of tasks require by his job, like protecting her from a_ fucking prehistoric snake_!

He couldn't bear to lose her.

Not to see her, touch her, argue with her, flirt with her, make her laugh, make her sigh.

He held her in his arms, even after there was nothing more they could do besides wait.

He held her in his arms, even after they were sure that she'd survive.

He held her in his arms, because she was weak and in pain.

He held her in his arms, because he could.

But he whispered quiet apologies in her ear, because he couldn't bear to lose her.

* * *

**A/N: And now for something completely different… (now you're wary and/or scared, aren't you?)**


	21. Oops, Wrong turn

**Author's Note: Sorry an update took so long… The next few should be up rather quickly. **

**CROSSOVER: With **_**Sharpe**_** series… approximately between **_**Siege **_**(10) and **_**Mission**_** (11). Familiarity not a requisite.**

**Disclaimer: I also do not own the **_**Sharpe **_**series or its characters…

* * *

**

"Uh-oh..." Sarah trailed off.

The device beeped unhappily at her.

Becker had on his 'oh, shit, what did you just do? And how am I going to clean this up?' face-which arguably was only slightly different than his normal soldiering expression.

The landscape looked decidedly Holocene, even familiar.

And were those...?

Yes, they were. Men. Completely modern _Homo sapien sapiens_.

Wearing uniforms.

And noticing their presence, approaching. Hastily, she tucked the device away.

It was so dark. Why did it have to be so damn dark?

Becker raised his gun. She put her hand on his shoulder, and he lowered it slightly.

_Think, Sarah. Think!_

She took in a deep breath, examined the foliage and landforms more closely. Why couldn't there be any unique architecture nearby for confirmation? She turned her attention upon the approaching men. The uniforms were key...not standard, but...

And their armament...

"Who goes there?" A man of average build with a round face probed. His companion was older, lean to the point of scrawniness, with long, scraggly greying hair falling about his shoulders.

British infantry, just as she thought. Riflemen, specifically. Then, "We need to speak to your officer. It's a matter of great importance to Lord Wellington."

Don't give them time to think, to ask too many questions.

'C'mon, soldier!" She barked upon their hesitation, causing Becker to flinch over her change in tone and volume.

"Sarge!" The second soldier called over his shoulder. A larger man in a uniform similar to the pair, excepting for its bearing the markings of his superior rank, appeared from practically nowhere, startling her.

Even Becker's men seemed surprised and a bit ill at ease from the sudden appearance.

"This..._lady_ is wanting to speak to the major," the first soldier explained. "Claims it concerns Wellington himself."

"Oh really now?" The sergeant asked. Irish? That was interesting... "Best not keep the lady and the gentlemen waiting, then."

"Major Sharpe!" He bellowed. Definitely a sergeant.

From their disregard for stealth or keeping their voices to even a civilized level, Sarah could only assume that they weren't in the midst of a fray, on a mission, or behind enemy lines, even though the environment appeared rather French. Also, they seemed wary of the ARC team, but not outright hostile towards them, which would indicate they were in a comfortable, supposedly safe zone.

Within a few moments, another man came marching upon their position out of the dark. He was smaller than the sergeant, lean, but in a much more sinewy manner than the other soldiers. Also, much more scruffy than gentlemanly in appearance, but most definitely an officer, with an edge of authority about him. His hand rested upon the hilt of a sword sheathed at his side as he walked.

Even in the pitch dark of night, Sarah could see the cunning about his eyes, the wariness in his stance despite the bemused smile.

"What do we have here, Sergeant Harper?" He asked.

"Don't rightly know, sir," Harper replied. "As far as I can make out, appeared like faire folk out of nowhere. Could be spies."

"Well, then," Major Sharpe uttered the nonchalant segue with an edge of command that intimated definitive orders about be given. "Best let the higher-ups sort the lot out."

Sarah barely covered her relief as they were led off towards fireflies in the night, which ended up being a large encampment of the British Army. They were by no means out of danger, were very, very lost, and thought to be spies in the middle of the Napoleonic Wars.

But at least she might be able to get a real bath and decent meal out of the ordeal. If her wits were equal to spinning the most incredible lie in her life…

* * *

**A/N: Sort of boring, I know, but needed to set up the premise a little for my random indulgences. ;-)**

**A/N2: Don't ask me how a 'French' environment would differ from Northern Spain, other parts of Europe, Britain, or even North America for that matter… We'll just say Sarah's that good! They would've brought Sarah along on the mission for good reason, besides her undoubted insistence.**


	22. Upon Period Garb

**Author's Note: The entire point of this crossover was not to put Sarah in a Regency dress! :-/ Okay, maybe it was…**

**Warning: Brief lascivious contemplations of period costuming…

* * *

**

It was all he could do to keep his mouth shut. He had never much fancied history, but the sudden realization that he had overlooked something that held some serious potential struck him quite hard. It wasn't so much how the pale dress made her skin a richer caramel in contrast, or how the low neckline and manner in which her hair was pinned atop her head showed off the curve of her neck. It wasn't even in the severe roundness of her breasts that nearly kissed her collarbone and threatened to burst from the scant material. Oddly, it was in the way the extremely full, seemingly unflattering empire-waisted skirts shifted and clung to hidden curves, a suggestion far more seductive than any low-rise, hip-hugging jeans.

Becker's mouth watered.

He swallowed back the hunger that was not stirred by the palatable smells of imminent dinner, waited for the ladies to be seated, and took his designated place. This easily, without a doubt was the most bizarre situation the soldier had ever found himself in. Dinosaurs, one could get used to... But this... They had landed in the middle of a war, and yet he was very much out of his depth. Polite, he could manage. The societal protocol of the early 19th century? He was so dead.

There was Sarah, though. He had been following her lead since they had first taken that damn wrong turn and had landed in the midst of Napoleonic France (thank god behind British lines) the previous night. She was a quick thinker, found a lie that would hopefully see them through the next anomaly alive and without having to explain their futuristic attire, equipment and random, sudden appearance.

He smiled at her as she conversed as if she actually belonged in the godforsaken era. Then he caught himself staring, and quickly averted his eyes.

Also, it was the way her breasts threatened to pop out of her dress upon the slightest provocation...

* * *

**A/N: Good portion of the next few random chapters/pieces is already written. Thus, hopefully more frequent updating shall occur. Now if only the same could be said for my other in-progress fics… (sigh-all work and no play makes CoL a dull girl)**


	23. Dinner Conversation

**Author's Note: Been really busy, but here's an update…finally. Sharpe-centric for something different. Perhaps, that was why I had a hard time with this rather pointless little segue (difficult wrapping my brain around the character, despite the fact that he is rather simplistic in his motives, etc.).

* * *

**

"My compliments, Mrs. Sharpe, Major," Miss Page said warmly after tucking into the food placed before her. "By far the best meal we've had the pleasure of in longer than I can remember."

Jane had insisted upon inviting the lady and captain from the rather strange company of soldiers that had appeared in a manner that quite baffled all, including Major Richard Sharpe. Oddly enough, it was not the society of the blatant liars that he detested to tolerate at his table. It was the persistent presence of the insufferable sod, Captain Norman, that grated upon his nerves.

True, Captain Becker and Miss Page (along with their men) had only offered a preposterous lie as explanation of their unexpected, bizarre appearance. Wellington could surely be considered an unconventional sort of general, evidenced by the lord's affinity for Sharpe himself, a common bastard (and not ashamed of it). However, the tale they spun was a little too far-fetched and surreptitious beyond even Wellington's capacity for strategizing. And yet, he instinctively liked the odd lot.

After over a dozen years in King George's army, he had learned to trust instincts acutely honed for survival. There had been several occasions when he'd been mistaken or misled, but there was too much of the soldier about these men, that earnest sort of honour and loyalty that couldn't be mistaken or belied. The intentions of Miss Sarah Page lay slightly more upon the vague side, and proved difficult to ascertain. The men treated her not as a lady, but more as a brother-in-arms, an example obviously set by their captain.

Yet, even though she was a proper English woman in almost every sense, his wife seemed rather fond of the near scandalous woman, her blatant display of familiarity with men not her relatives and brash command of them.

"And where have you served previously, Captain?" Norman inquired of Becker.

The terse man appeared hesitant to answer.

"I believe you spent some time in Kabul, did you not?" Miss Page supplied.

Captain Becker simply inclined his head in agreement.

"On behalf of King George's army?" Captain Norman scoffed incredulously. "I don't recall there being any skirmishes in the region."

Had the daft captain caught the pair in their nest of lies?

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the matter," Becker supplied, pinning the half-drunk sod with an earnest, warning glance. No, Sharpe was inclined to believe the captain was not lying.

"I heard there was some trouble with the Shahs, there," Sarah offered, intently and delicately continuing about her meal.

"Are you implying the British Army has a hand in the Durrani Empire as well?" Sharpe inquired.

Once, he had somehow gotten his hands on a book by a Mr. Edward Lambert speculating upon the politics of the Persian Empire and its neighbors. It had been during that stage when knowing how to read was a novelty, and he consumed it with glee for the skill, if not for the content. Mr. Edward Lambert had not mentioned British meddling in the region in recent times. But he could believe unofficial meddling was not precluded simply by not meriting Mr. Edward Lambert's attention.

No, Miss Page was most assuredly a spy. Captain Becker no doubt performed all the dirty, little tasks a lady, even one such as her, could not execute. And now, possibly Wellington had gotten the pair in his pocket, gave them some shiny new kit and forces, and set them spying (and who knew what else) upon good ol' Bony.

"I imply no such thing," she replied innocently, but not so innocently as her smile belied. "Simply making conversation."

"You know doubt developed a taste for foreign delicacies, residing there, Captain." Norman's gaze was not directed to the addressee of the statement, rather the object of its intended slight. The bastard had a lewd streak that resided far beyond disrespectful. Sharpe admittedly had quite the taste for a bit of muslin, but he never treated a woman, lady or whore, without respect.

Miss Page's dark eyes glanced to Becker's face before darting away. A muscle in the captain's jaw twitched poignantly. No mistaking the truth in Norman's distasteful innuendo.

Richard had concluded as much about the nature of the pair's relationship, but as his wife often indicated, it was not appropriate conversation for polite society. And there was absolutely no reason to insult the lady, who while rather swarthy in appearance, was quite attractive. Jane was considerably pale in the manner considered most attractive back home, but to be honest, he liked women with a bit of color. And spirit. Jane at least demonstrated a modicum of that. Although, not like his Teresa had possessed, God rest her feisty Spanish soul.

"Forgive my inquiry if it offends, Miss Page, but where exactly do you hail from?" Jane asked lightly.

Richard smiled gratefully at his wife for her attempt to change the subject before Captain Becker killed Captain Norman for the lascivious contemplations he blatantly had turned upon the lady.

"I was born in London," Miss Page supplied looking just as relieved for the distraction. "But my mother was the daughter of a maharaja, my father an English emissary."

"Oh, Richard served in India for a time," Jane replied genially steering the subject to a more manageable topic.

_Damn, bloody spies! _This pair and their soldiers were most definitely a problem. Sharpe did not believe that they'd purposely or directly cause trouble, but it doubtless followed and clung to them like a lost mongrel that could lash out and bite at any moment.

He knew that cursed feeling all too well himself...

* * *

**A/N: This time I really promise more updates are not far behind (they are already written, in fact).**

**A/N 2: Jane is such a b**** later on in the Sharpe series, but at this point, he loves her and she is rather a sweet person, so I treated her thus.**


	24. Ungentlemanly

**Author's Note: Perhaps my repeated visitation upon this particular genre is getting old, but I tend to enjoy it still…

* * *

**

"You shouldn't be in here."

"Sarah, I haven't been able to talk to you alone since we arrived in this bloody era."

She closed the door behind him, a concession to his frustration.

"That's because it's not proper, Captain Becker," she replied, noting the societal protocols that had kept them almost entirely apart for over a day. "And we can't really afford to seem like we don't belong. Wellington has no doubt already received the inquiry for confirmation of our story. Reply will be arriving within a day or so, if not less, if the General suspects malicious deceit."

"That's all well and good," Becker pressed. "But I don't see why you want to chuck me out. If anything, discussing our plans for escaping this time period is more urgent."

"I already told you the time and location of the anomaly that should put us back on track."

He tried to step further into the room in which the Sharpes had put her up; the major and his wife had been temporarily quartered in an apparently abandoned French household. She blocked him, eliciting a sigh from the weary soldier. The wan candlelight set his tired features into starker contrast. He looked utterly exhausted.

Guilt persuaded her to back down. Guilt and her own weariness. She honestly didn't mean for every single conversation between them to be such a tiresome battle. It just tended to turn out that way.

"It's going to open in a French controlled fort," Becker announced with a grimace. "One Wellington wants under British control in no less than two days from now."

"What?" Sarah barely had time to relegate her exclamation into a hiss rather than a shout.

"That's..." She couldn't quite find the appropriate descriptor.

"Not good," Becker supplied.

"Most definitely not! This is so, so..."

"Not good."

She glared at the soldier. Was he...? He was! How could he find their predicament amusing, let alone mock her?

"You really think this is _funny_?" No longer could she control the volume of her voice, as she began to berate her unfortunate companion for his levity. She only managed several more breathless seconds, and a few profanities before he hushed her like a small child by placing his finger upon her lips.

It was unexpected enough a gesture to actually stall her completely out. And all she could think of when she looked up into his face was the last time he had touched her in such a familiar fashion.

"I thought you were afraid of being caught alone with a gentleman in your room."

His smile was teasing, amused. Obviously, the man had more affinity for the 'fly by the seat of your pants' approach to life than she had considered him to possess. Or the catastrophe that was their current circumstances really didn't bother him as much as he had led her to believe... But then why had he been so insistent upon gaining entry to her room?

_Oh._

"You are no gentleman," She accused, noting his roaming eyes. And hand, which had somehow made its way without her notice over her cheek, down her neck and presently traced a path along her collar bone. She stayed its pursuit of a more southerly exploration.

"Major Sharpe would doubtless come to my aide, were I to call out," She added, attempting to turn Becker's thoughts away from advances she knew she did not possess the capacity to resist.

The soldier scoffed incredulously at the assertion.

"Major Sharpe is no more a gentleman than I," Becker replied.

Sarah gave him a bemused look. As far as she could tell, he generally liked the rough honesty of the man-no doubt finding a kindred soul residing therein. True, she had heard it from the Major's wife herself, that he had been a common soldier rather than purchasing his commission like most officers born of good breeding. Something everyone had naturally assumed her captain to possess. Then again, they took her for a lady...possibly a spy, but still a lady nonetheless.

Becker was giving her that smile again, that damnable smile. She had focused on the wrong part of his statement.

"Besides," he continued, leaning in to tickle her ear with his whisper, "I believe he'd easily distinguish the type of cry that's likely to part your lips from one of actual distress."

Really, she should've swatted him off, sent him on his way back to where he was quartered with his men amongst the vast array of tents. There were just so many reasons not to do what she was about to do. Then again, she might as well enjoy to the fullest the closest thing to a real bed she'd had the pleasure of in a long while, or was bound to again anytime in the near future.

"I was just about to call for Jane Sharpe's girl, but since you're here..." She turned around, indicating the buttons that were impossibly out of her reach, threatening to keep her trapped in the period garb forever.

* * *

**A/N: We're getting to the end of this little endeavour! (Even though it is just me playing, which hasn't lost its luster yet.)**


	25. Morning Dalliances?

**Author's Note: Maybe I should just start writing smut novels, because the capability is blatantly there...  


* * *

**

The bed was a vast expanse of heavenly softness. Becker hadn't realized how much he had missed a real bed. Well, this wasn't exactly the same sort of mattress that awaited him back home, rather a 19th century equivalent no doubt filled with some dubious material. But he wasn't about to complain.

It was odd though to find his naked body completely entangled with Sarah's to the point where he wasn't sure who was laying on top of whom, when they had a rather large bed to spread themselves out amongst. True, it was not large by modern standards, but when one had begun sleeping with their..._whatever_ by cramming themselves into a constrictive amount of fabric, it should have been a freeing amount of space.

Not that he was complaining. He quite enjoyed the feel of her wrapped about him. Odd, that. Generally he took it as a sign of undesirable clinginess in a woman. Why was it so different with Sarah?

Perhaps, he savoured every moment with her because of the uncertainty. Could he say she was his? Could he even think it? When would she decide this..._fooling around_...wasn't worth the trouble it appeared to cause their working relationship? When would her amazing tendency towards the mercurial (at least where he was concerned) swing against their dalliances once more?

Could he have her just one more time before that happened?

Eager to discover the answer, he kissed her bare shoulder, and moved his hand from where it resided in a fairly interesting place to a _far_ more interesting one.

She stirred a little, but her eyes remained closed. He gave her some more urging.

"What do you think you're doing?" came a sleepy murmur from the mass of black locks resting upon his bare chest. Finding her cheek with his free hand, he lifted her face, taking her lips in a hungry embrace as reply.

He maneuvered her to lay supine beneath him, and began kissing down her neck and chest.

A grunt forced its way past his lips when she caught him off guard, flipping him off from her onto his back and straddling him much more quickly than one should be capable who thirty seconds prior hadn't wanted to wake even with the promise of sex.

"Not this time," she chided, her hands sliding up his torso to rest at his shoulders, supporting her weight as she leaned in and kissed him in a severely rousing manner. Thinking about it, he had to admit to his tendency to take command even during their _personal _interactions. Then he could no longer think about much, as she began to kiss and nibble at his chest.

And just when it was starting to feel really, really good, she stopped suddenly, sitting up and slapping a hand upon his bare chest.

"What time is it?" she asked, the sun caressing her naked breasts and part of her face in a manner that rendered Becker jealous of the distance between them and his person.

"I don't know," He replied gruffly. God, how could she just switch it off so rapidly? "Someone made me leave my wristwatch with the rest of the 'non-contemporary' gear."

"Damn! I was supposed to meet with the colonel this morning!" She exclaimed, slapping the already stinging skin of his chest once more.

"Ow, Sarah!" he scolded more for the loss of her attention than any pain she had caused him.

Before he could catch her, she had already leapt out of the bed and was pulling on his borrowed trousers.

"I need to convince them how vital our presence in that fort is," she said more to herself than to Becker, as she continued to struggle to dress.

"Sarah."

No response.

"Sarah."

She finally paused to look at him.

"Sorry," she apologized. Well, that was a first. The way she leaned in and kissed him almost made up for the abandonment. But it wasn't enough to make up for...

"Why are you taking my trousers?"

"I don't have time for all the fuss of that." She indicated the rumpled mess of the borrowed dress where it had landed the previous night.

"And you expect me to deal with that?" He gave her a sarcastic look, adding dryly, "I don't think lavender floral is my print."

"You'll figure something out, soldier boy," she gave him a coy smile as she headed for the door, adding over her shoulder, "Or the maid will have a delightful surprise waiting for her."

_Damn that woman!_

* * *

**A/N: Looks like it's just down to me, tulzdavampslayer, and Peppy87 (thanks for continuing to read and review). Hope you guys are still enjoying (as well as anyone else who might be out there), because I certainly am! :-) **


	26. Tea in the Garden

**Author's Note: More random Regency-periodness. Almost** **done this mini-arc. (and fic, for that matter).

* * *

**

A good cup of tea. A soft bed. The affections of a loyal, protective, strong, gorgeous man. Her life had certainly seemed to take a turn for the better.

If one did not take into account the whole 'Lost in Time' aspect.

Sarah shrugged inwardly, taking another sip from the delicate porcelain cup and smiling at her newfound friend.

"Taking tea in the garden was a splendid idea," she complimented Mrs. Sharpe distractedly, captivated by the fascinating view provided.

"It hardly qualifies such a title, I'm afraid," Jane replied just as absently.

They were both fixated on a scene playing out not more than thirty yards away in an open area amongst the army encampment. Major Sharpe and Captain Becker were sparring... with swords! Of all things! And the ARC captain wasn't bad, holding his own against the scrappy rifleman, who walked around with such an instrument always at his side. No doubt Becker boasted fencing lessons in his youth-for he had certainly been sent of to one of those antiquated military academies, the soldier was so deeply ingrained in him.

Sarah couldn't really complain. The fierce loyalty of the man appealed to her. As did those very tight, borrowed but gorgeous, dark green rifleman's pants. Suddenly, any minor wounds he sustained in his rough-housing with the major no longer seemed problematic, as she contemplated kissing them better.

"Excuse my impertinence in the question," Jane Sharpe interrupted her consideration of fitted military uniforms. "But you are attached to Captain Becker, are you not?"

"I am that," Sarah replied emphatically before sipping at her tea and then sighing. "But not in the way you suppose."

_Primarily at the hip, apparently_.

"Oh, you really are going to hate me," Jane continued, after a somewhat tense silence. "However I must ask permission to further my trespass and put another question to you."

"How could I deny you such an inquiry without remaining forever curious as to its nature?" Sarah replied. Why was there such an appeal for the convoluted language? Perhaps it was because if she released all of her worries and concerns, she could practically trick herself into believing she was in the middle of a Jane Austen novel. And the appeal of that was undeniable.

Mrs. Sharpe leaned in conspiratorially close, setting her tea cup aside in excited anticipation. She whispered her 'scandalous' question in hushed tones.

"Am I mistaken in assuming that you share your bed with the captain?"

How to reply was difficult to discern. Back home, it was no significant circumstance to find oneself consistently spending their nights with a man despite the uncertainty as to the nature of their relationship. In fact, many would call her a tease for taking so very long to 'seal the deal.' But in this era, her actions were of the worst variety for a woman; she'd be considered 'ruined' at the very least.

If she was such a 'scandalous' persona, she might as well have fun with it, she supposed.

"No, you are not mistaken."

Jane appeared appropriately scandalized, but continued to pursue the socially unacceptable conversation.

"No offense, dearest Sarah, but you do not seem the type to fall into such a trap," Jane furthered. "Or to lack the persuasiveness to insist that the captain perform his duty as a gentleman." The very _English_ regency era lady fanned herself as she took a breath. "So, why..."

"You know," Sarah began dryly. "It's rather like having a St. Bernard lying at the foot of one's bed. One feels quite safe and protected whilst they sleep. And, as with all such creatures, is it not right to offer reward for unwavering loyalty and services well rendered?"

She fought the smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth as her hostess' eyes widened first with shock and then good humour as she digested Sarah's remark. They both burst into laughter.

And yet Sarah knew she was a pariah in this era. It would probably be addressed in a more trivial, joking manner back home, but it dawned upon her that she did not even know her lover's first name. Normally, that would be indicative of drunkenness and some bad choices, and frowned upon even in her time. But it wasn't like that. 'Becker' was simply who the man was, at least to her. Perhaps to everyone, even his own mother, for all she knew.

It was a title, like 'Cher' or 'God'...okay that was slightly blasphemous, but it was apt. Why did she need to know another name for him, when the one she had was his 'true' name, the one that best defined him, _that was him_?

Sarah smiled into her tea cup. It was too perfect. Becker belonged in this era. Duty and honour were what drove him. He had been trained to survive, protect, kill. The perfect soldier. And, as was common during this period, everyone referred to him in the formal, by his family name.

And, borrowed though it may be, he filled out that rifleman's uniform in a most appetizing manner.

* * *

**A/N: Sick of me yet?**


	27. Through the Melee

**Author's note: Apparently, you are sick of me…but I press forth if only because I am almost done.

* * *

**

It's not like _War_ as he's known it.

He never thought it possible, but this 19th century battle seems somehow more personal, more brutal. Even in combat on the ground, modern technology allows soldiers some sort of detachment from their enemy. Even with that same adrenal rush, avoiding fire, returning it, explosions, death all around... It is different.

Becker can count on one hand the number of times he's had to engage a hostile in hand-to-hand combat. He had been thoroughly trained, if not prepared for the type of chaos that passed for battle back home.

But this chaos...

And he needs to get his people through the fray, through the smoke of artillery fire that stung the eyes and burned the lungs, the random musket balls gone astray, the seemingly random slashing of sword and bayonet. In short, the mash of frightened, enraged, maniacal humanity.

When they convinced Sharpe to permit their incursion into the fort, using the Forlorn Hope as distraction to scale a wall, the major warned Becker, quietly, pointedly, to 'keep the lady under watchful eye that she may not come to harm.' Honestly, he was astounded to hear that soldiers from either side could be a threat to Sarah. But witnessing the madness with his own eyes, he now understands Sharpe's warning.

They're more animals than men.

But there...sparkling in the distance, more than just the glint of fire and sun off metal, visible even through the smoke...the anomaly. Just a few more yards and they'll be home-free.

Becker indicates for his men to proceed, falling back to ensure the rest push through the maniacal melee. Sarah warned them against joining the battle, killing unless their lives depended upon it. Altering history at this point in time would likely be devastating.

God love her, they were headed into all kinds of hell, and her primary worry was not harming the future. She doesn't know better. How can she? She's never been in the midst of War, especially this insanity with which Becker finds himself barely able to cope.

Major Sharpe is a tougher man than Becker even gave him considerable credit for being. He can hear the soldier's rallying cry in the distance, cutting through the din of battle, assured, fortifying, yet calm. The man is not just a survivor, but a leader. There is no doubt as to whom will win the day.

But that is not this soldier's concern. There is his own team to worry about.

Continuing to fall back into the melee, he sees her, lagging behind, obviously in shock. Her outlook on life doesn't allow for what her eyes and ears are telling her. Humanity is not capable of such horrors, not wholly, not on this scale, not in her world. Working at the ARC, he knows that she's witnessed senseless violence before, but not by human hands, not by beings supposedly possessing of a conscience.

How he wishes he could've preserved such an innocence in her. He rather enjoyed her purer, better world, letting himself get lost in it, in her.

But that's no longer as important as simply keeping her alive and seeing her safely out of this mess. Which may prove far more difficult than he hoped.

The chaos is growing thicker, closer. Wilkins is going back for her, to help guide the shell-shocked woman through the clashing soldiers, over the dead bodies.

Becker sees the artillery explode just behind them.

He hears the next volley.

But it's too late to even warn them.

The world is all blinding light, debris, deafening sound, concussive force, and darkness.


	28. Only Human

**Author's Note: For something a little different, first-person via Sarah (experimenting with styles, etc, was in fact the point of this random fic, after all). Inspired by Sake-tan's comments about 'Becker only being a human man'-at least in my portrayals of him (If you're still around, thanks for the inspiration!).**

**SAPPY SAP SAP! (with a smidge of angst)

* * *

**

Becker is just a man.

Human like the rest of us.

It's easy to forget, when all you see is the strong facade he shows the world. Even in his tender moments, he's a pillar. Solid as they come.

He's quiet now, but in a different manner than his usual stoicism. He sheds no tears, and yet his facade is shattered and my view of the world is crashing down with it. He was the center of the Earth, molten rock, impermeable, forever, never slowing, never wavering, making my world possible.

But that's alright. Re-evaluation is part of life. Paradigm shifts are a staple to archaeology. I'll adapt.

But Becker is no hypothesis, though I've tested him enough throughout our relationship. And he needs me. For once, he _really_ needs me. Not in that hormonal, maddening manner, either.

His heart is breaking with grief, the burden of that boy's death. If anyone has a right to feel rotten about it, it's the one who he shoved out of the way of that cannon blast, the one shielded by his lifeless body. He saved _me._

And I'm not sure what's tearing the man clinging tightly to me apart more. Whether it's the fact he lost one of his men, or that he's happy that it was Davey Wilkins rather than myself left to be buried nameless amongst the dead near two-centuries before he was even born.

What a fight that had been. One for which I did not have the heart, but it was a necessity. It had to be done. We had to leave a man behind. It was just an empty shell, I had argued, and they had listened, perhaps more out of shock than understanding.

He would be found, in the garb of a chosen man of King George's army. He'd be treated with respect. We couldn't cart him through space and time indefinitely, just to bury him at home.

That's what I tell myself, anyway.

I can't let myself be weak. Maybe I'll cry for days when we finally find the others and make it home.

But right now, _he_ needs me.

After all, Becker is just a man.

* * *

**A/N: Possibly a cop-out on how they got out of the situation, but action reserves were all used up by Becker's Bad Day, and need more time to recharge.**

**A/N2: For some odd reason, I seem to be naming doomed characters 'Davey' lately. If I knew any Daveys or Daves or Davids, I'd have to say my subconscious was trying to tell me somethong (aka that I have issues). But happily, this is just not the case :-)  
**


	29. Together Again!

**Author's Note: Yay! The gang is all together again!

* * *

**

_That's long enough, Quinn_.

Becker was surprised to find an unexpected twinge of jealously creep up as he watched Sarah hug her long-lost team member. But anyone would have to admit that Danny Quinn's hands lingered just a little longer than necessary upon her back...one creeping down to rest at the small of it.

Becker narrowed his eyes, and then shook off the unwarranted envy as the two broke off the hug.

Abby had hugged him, jumping on him, practically knocking him off his feet, and Sarah hadn't been an iota upset about that. Why was he being unreasonable about nothing?

Maybe because he had noticed long before the way Danny sometimes looked at the female archaeologist. It hadn't bothered him then, but he hadn't even considered Sarah anywhere in near the context he presently held her. But if he didn't watch himself, he was very likely to become territorial.

Sarah would definitely _not _appreciate that.

"Connor," Becker acknowledged the somehow even-scruffier-than-normal looking young man who had approached him with a happy smile lighting his face.

Goddamn it.

Fine.

Becker entertained his long lost teammate's desire for a hug. But oh, did he need to instruct the boy on the proper execution of a male-male hug. i.e. minimal amount of body contact, either by clasping hands in front or the side/shoulder tap. None of this full on, arms wrapped all the way around him shit.

"How long have you been here?" Becker asked after regaining his composure.

"Actually, Abby and I almost got trapped in the Cretaceous," he explained, shrugging it off, apparently with some difficulty. "But Helen left this behind." He waved about the device Becker had last seen in Helen Cutter's crazy hands.

"Oh wow! Is that it?" Sarah asked, plucking it out of Connor's hands in her fervor for technological exploration. Becker suppressed a chuckle over Connor's frozen look of surprise, hand still held in the air as if the device remained in his grasp. The curious glint in Sarah's eyes quickly turned to a frown.

"It's broken," she announced.

"Out of juice, actually," Connor corrected, plucking it back out of her hands. "Otherwise we'd just have..." He made some sort of gesture that was supposed to be indicative of something Becker had no idea what. "...popped back home."

"Look what we cobbled together back at the ARC," Sarah proudly produced the rather low-tech version of Helen's futuristic device. For how impressive it was to the layman, it might as well have been built of Lego. Connor's eyes lit up nonetheless. Apparently, he could see past the electrical tape and exposed wires.

"I don't know about the rest of you lot, but I'd sort of like to go home now," Danny Quinn interrupted the geekery that threatened to incapacitate the rest of the group with boredom.

Becker couldn't hide his grateful sigh of relief.

"Let's move out."

* * *

**A/N: What's going to happen when they get home? …**


	30. Warm Welcome

**Author's Note: Not much Sarah or Becker (or anything for that matter), but a segue I couldn't resist.

* * *

**

"Much to my surprise, this place does not run more efficiently in your absence," Lester offered the closest thing to a warm welcome of which he were capable. "Given that we're all still here, I can assume the mission was a complete success?"

"Helen Cutter is dead," Danny Quinn confirmed.

"Hmm," Lester mused. "I look forward to hearing the details. But for now, go home, all of you. Get some rest. We'll debrief tomorrow."

"We pass inspection?" Danny inquired sarcastically.

"They assure me you're all disease-free," Lester replied. "At least physically. As for mentally, that would require a team of a different sort of medical professionals to determine."

"Either way, quarantine is lifted."

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**A/N: Last chapter up next!**


	31. Ending or Just Beginning?

**Author's Note: I am **_**such **_**a girl…

* * *

**

"So that's it? We're done?"

"Er...yeah. We found what we were looking for."

"You mean Danny, and Abby and Connor?"

"Yeah. What else were we missing?"

"Something I've never had."

They stood staring at one another, unsure of where this was all headed, whether the other wanted to continue, assuming they simply wanted to revert back to their former lives.

She was certain that he was already sick of her. He seemed a ladies' man and he now had literally millions of options to explore once again. Had she not been the only choice when his needs had come calling?

He was certain that she had turned to him merely out of stress, finding some sort of comfort even in their bickering. She couldn't possibly be as attached to him as he had become to her.

Dark eyes, burdened with anxious anticipation of imminent heartache, met.

She reached out, tentatively touching his hand with her delicate fingers. The awkwardness melted away with the familiar, electric physicality.

He pulled her close, kissing her slowly, softly; and then more fervently, roughly, hungrily. He made love to her in that kiss, placing in it every emotion she stirred, every thought she conjured, every promise he'd make, every row they'd have, every peaceful night, every passionate one. Every heartache and hurt. Every banal moment. In that one kiss, he condensed their entire relationship, poured out his heart.

Never had Sarah proven to be so susceptible to his touch. True, he had the uncanny ability to arouse her with the most fleeting of caresses, to make her passionate beyond her control. But never had she been all soft or smitten over the likes of him. She most definitely wasn't the type to swoon, too practical for that.

Yet her knees had gone all wobbly part way through that kiss. By the end, her legs were rendered weak enough that he was required to support the entirety of her weight.

And when he removed his lips from hers, she melted into him, lying her hand and head against his chest, releasing a sigh.

When she looked up into his face, their dark eyes meeting once more, he knew his invitation had been received and accepted.

"You know if we're going to pursue this," Sarah said, sly smile teasing her lips, "You _are _going to have to tell me your given name."

Becker smiled broadly.

"Fair enough."

* * *

**A/N: And END MUSH. Well, hope you enjoyed the ride. I sure did. **

**A/N2: Just had to share that the fact that this ended on Chapter 31 (instead of 30) bothers me more than just a little, but it needed to go this way, I guess (for that was what was in me to write). **


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